


5 Times Mac Took Care of Dennis

by williamastankova



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: 5+1 Things, Blow Jobs, Cold Weather, Crying, Drunken Kissing, Drunkenness, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everyone Needs A Hug, Feeding, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Hair Dyeing, Huddling For Warmth, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Making Out, Nosebleed, Sharing a Bed, Straddling, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, okay that's enough tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2019-11-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:27:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21537445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/williamastankova/pseuds/williamastankova
Summary: And a sixth that was completely mutual.
Relationships: Mac McDonald & Dennis Reynolds, Mac McDonald/Dennis Reynolds
Comments: 12
Kudos: 121





	5 Times Mac Took Care of Dennis

1\. 

Mac's always been there. Dennis can't actually remember a time in his life when he hasn't had his friend by his side, always willing to protect him and take care of him. It's nice at the very least, reassuring and simply practical. After all, when one of them gets into a jam, the other is always there to help get them out. It's just how the system works.

Now they're getting older, however, things are starting to change. It's not so common that he needs Mac's muscle to beat up some douche he's managed to irk (though it still happens, now and then). Nowadays, it's more doing each other favours - well, more like Mac always offering to do Dennis favours, and the latter being generally pleased with the arrangement.

Today, Dennis had asked Mac to help him fix his hair. Now he's starting to age, he's not ashamed to dmit he's going just the slightest bit gray, and so he's invested in some hair dye to solve this little issue. Nothing drastic - no bleaches, no greens, no reds, no nothing - just chocolate brown to cover the areas he's losing pigment. It just makes sense for Mac to do it, seeing as he's already in the apartment and he's not doing much at all.

That's basically how they got here, with Dennis kneeling and Mac sat behind him, gloved and running his fingers through Dennis' hair, painting it dark brown. It's not quite as raunchy as it might sound.

"Really, man," Mac's speaking less to him, more at him at this point, "You look great. You don't need any of this, just so you know-"

"Yeah, Mac, thanks," Dennis tries not to sound bored of his friend, but he can't help it when he's heard this same thing repeated a hundred times since they started, "I just wanna get it done, so if you don't mind..."

He trails off, but Mac seems to get the message. Dennis can't see him, but he imagines he nods because his fingers continue to work, making sure to cover every inch. It's when he starts to massage the dye into Dennis' scalp that Dennis finds himself shutting his eyes subconsciously, smiling just the slightest, enjoying himself just perhaps a little too much.

Mac's started speaking again, about something or other. He knows he doesn't _have_ to listen, but he sort of feels like he owes it to Mac, like after everything his friend has done for him he should at least do him the decency of paying attention to whatever he has to say, even if it isn't exactly riveting.

"...and then, dude, Charlie was like 'yeah, I think that's a good idea, Dee'. Like how could he think that was a good idea? Dee never has good ideas, you've got to back me up on that."

"Mhm," Dennis hums in agreement, feeling himself drifting gently off, just because the feeling of Mac's fingertips against his scalp feels to goddamn euphoric, "totally, man. You're absolutely right. She never did, even growing up. Never a single light bulb moment."

"That's what I told him!" Mac exclaims as though uncovering something profound, and Dennis fights the urge to give him an offended look when he removes his hands. He shifts, Dennis assumes to look over the dye job, and then removes his glove and pats Dennis on the shoulder, almost making his towel slip, "You're all done."

Dennis stands reluctantly, knees almost buckling after having gotten used to his position before Mac (again, not like it sounds), and realises as he looks back at Mac that he kind of wants them to go on like that. Mac gives him one of his classic puppy-dog-eyed grins and speaks again.

"You look great, Dennis," he tells him, sounding certain, though Dennis doesn't feel quite so convinced.

"Thanks, Mac."

2.

"I can't believe you sprained your ankle, Dennis," Mac sounds almost disappointed as he carries the two of them through the front door of their apartment, Dennis' arm around his neck for support and his words not quite acting as moral support. He's quick to continue, "It's totally Charlie's fault, though. If he hadn't kicked you in the first place, you wouldn't have ended up-"

"Yeah, thanks, Mac," Dennis has been scowling the whole way back from the park. The rest of the gang let him go, barely showing any remorse for injuring him in one of their stupid schemes that Dennis didn't even really agree to in the first place. Once again, only Mac had his back, literally and figuratively, but he still can't help himself from snapping at the man, "Can you just put me down on the couch, please?"

Mac makes a little noise that seems to agree, and brings Dennis to sit gently on the sofa. Dennis' face doesn't relax at all.

"I'll make you a home-made recipe that my mom used to make my dad whenever he got hurt," Mac smiles at him brightly, but Dennis can only shake his head and groan in pain. This triggers Mac to launch into overly-maternal mode, "Just you wait, Dennis, you're gonna love it. Don't move, man! You're gonna make it worse for yourself."

"I wish Frank had kept my healthcare," Dennis laments, preparing for his untimely death. There's so much he hasn't done yet, so many lewd things he hasn't crossed off of his bucket list... well, best not to go into that right now, considering Mac's coming at him again, armed with pillows and blankets. Before he can protest, he's being lifted and there's suddenly a pillow inserted beneath his back, and a tartan blanket he didn't even know they owned is being draped across his legs.

"You sit tight," Mac implores, then promptly disappears into their kitchen. Dennis is sure he's not going to like what comes back out of there, but for now there's no death-soup nor disgusting concoction of whatever Mac can find in their barren fridge and cupboards. Now, there's just a quiet, peaceful room with the faintest sound of Mac humming away some action film theme song as he makes Dennis' poison that'll finally finish him off.

Dennis isn't quite sure when he begins to drift off, but when Mac returns he has a rather disturbingly large bowl of something green that's steaming. Just the sight is enough to make him nauseous, and he's preparing the best way to refuse to eat this.

"Hey, listen, Mac-" he tries to begin, but Mac is suddenly shushing him. He must see how sleepy Dennis looks, because he takes it upon himself to bring the bowl over to his friend and he starts to gather the unnamed, unnameable green mush onto a spoon, and he's bringing it up to Dennis' mouth.

At first, Dennis tries to back off like an infant, without the means to express distaste for something but knowing he doesn't want whatever's on the spoon. Then, as though going through the five stages of grieving his own death, Dennis reluctantly parts his lips and lets Mac feed him. His brow is furrowed, but it slowly begins to unknit as he realises the taste of Mac's meal.

It's not good. It's important for that to be stated first and foremost, because that would be totally misleading to say. It does take him by surprise, however, because despite appearances and preconceived ideas, it doesn't taste of anything at all. In fact, the most it leaves him with is a warm sensation in his mouth, then down his throat, which in all honesty is a little pleasurable.

Once he realises he's (almost) probably not going to die from eating Mac's dish, he shifts his attention elsewhere. It's more out of a lack of something to do than an active interest in doing said thing, however what he decides to focus on instead is how Mac looks. His ever-soft eyes look impossibly sensitive, like he's seriously fearing for Dennis' life and safety or some shit. It's sort of nice, because Dennis knows that Mac is the only one out of the gang to actually care about him like that - even over Dee, his own flesh and blood twin sister.

Mac's always been sort of soppy-handsome. Not that Dennis is gay or anything, but he's always figured if he were to want to do anything with a guy, it'd be with Mac. He doesn't know how much that says, though, considering his only semi-viable other options are a random guy in a club (dirty, and definitely not his style anymore, even with chicks) or Charlie (far, far too dirty, and more than a little annoying).

Mac, on the other hand, is strong. Not just in how he's firmly built, tall and muscular, but in his emotions. Stubborn is almost the word for it, but it's not a negative thing - at least not in Dennis' mind. He usually knows what he wants and how to get it; he's only soft with Dennis. The latter doesn't care to label what that might mean, finding it easier to just ignore it altogether.

It might be an accident that he becomes lazy with his opening-and-closing of his mouth so that Mac's forced to intervene, taking ahold of Dennis' jaw and controlling his friend's actions for him, or it might not be. Who's going to find that out?

Either way, Mac's hand is now on his face, firm and present and so _hot_ \- Jesus Christ, does this man ever sweat? From the looks of it, the answer is no, because the fingers that have planted themselves onto Dennis' jaw, solid and powerful, each feel like little sticks of fire pressed up against his skin, and Dennis can't quite bring himself to admit he actually really likes it.

At first, Mac doesn't look at him, merely remaining focused on the task at hand, but then he catches Dennis' eye, and the latter refuses to break this contact once it's been made. It's almost like he's watching himself do all this, because he's not making any conscious decisions to do any of this shit, it's just a matter of instinct, and it's the bravest he's ever been.

Mac's eyes are warm. They always are: a comfortable, chocolate brown colour, that Dennis has begun to subconsciously recognise as home. Now, though, as Dennis falls pliant beneath his hands, holding his gaze as he takes the food from Mac like a glossy-eyed rag doll, there seems to be something else, something new, and Dennis is admittedly a little fearful to title what it is.

All too soon, though, Mac's pulling away, letting go of his face so suddenly it feels like lead, like it's going to fall straight down into the couch and bury itself there, never to be seen again. With the way his body is threatening to make him blush, he doesn't think that's such a bad idea.

"Alright," Mac says, putting the spoon back into the bowl and setting it down nearby, "You should get some sleep now. I can make you some more of that later, if you want?"

"Yeah," Dennis manages to croak, sounding eighty years older than his fit-in-form self, "Yeah, sounds good."

He knows for a fact he didn't eat the whole thing, but he's not about to demand that Mac sits back down beside him and feeds him again. Even he's not that cruel, so instead he just lies back and lets Mac bend over to tuck him in. The man fixes him into the blanket like an Egyptian mummy, unable to move a single inch, then ruffles his once perfectly styled hair and takes his leave.

As Dennis shuts his eyes and begins to drift off, he cringes internally. Had he really just done that? What in _hell_ had possessed him to do such a thing? No wonder Mac had left so quickly - he must have made him feel uncomfortable, what with his intense staring and basically imitating... well, it was pretty obvious what it looked like, no?

He finally resigns, giving into sleep, figuring whatever had just happened could be blamed on his injury - a fever or some shit - and they could just go back to normal.

3\. 

That, evidently, wasn't possible. After that interaction, Dennis has been seeing Mac in a whole new light. Of course he's always realised that Mac's been a attractive guy, he'd never looked at him as he's been doing recently. Lately, he's caught himself admiring Mac's physique, how tall and well-built he is. It's not even just the fact that he's like a muscular, sculpted Greek god; there's just something about him that's been hitting Dennis in a different way.

Not to mention, the daydreams. Oh God, he's not just watching Mac with greater intention, he's having fervour-fuelled fantasies about the man - honest to God and the Devil themselves. He actually wants to touch Mac now, whereas before he was reluctant at best when Mac reached out for him. 

This forbidden desire is not a good idea, especially not when mixed with alcohol. Dennis finds this out too late, when he's unable to control himself. He usually drinks to forget shit, if not just for the fun of drinking. Now, he's gone and broken down his walls, and as he looks over at Mac, who's prancing beside him as they skip along the sidewalk, high as birds, he knows he's royally fucked.

It's late. He doesn't know exactly what time it is, but the darkness has set around them, and there's an unstable moon hanging in the sky. The streets are so silent, you'd think they were completely alone in the world. Dennis forces himself to keep moving his feet, even though he doesn't really know where he's going, because if he stops Mac will definitely know something's up, and that's the last thing he needs right now.

Out of nowhere, Mac begins to laugh. It's just the two of them, after Dee and Charlie sent them on their way for being 'too drunk' to scheme. With a promise to call them in the morning, the pair went on their merry way, and now they've been walking, dancing down the street, for God knows how long. 

Dennis almost doesn't want to check the time. He knows if he does he'll realise how late it is, how they should start heading back now, how they need to be up bright and early to be their best selves for whatever plan Dee and Charlie manage to come up with. He wants to stay like this, just maybe forever, because lately going anywhere by Mac's side is heaven on earth.

 _Stop thinking that shit_ , Dennis tells himself, shaking his head as though these thoughts will come shooting out of his ears and leave him alone, _it's weird._

In an attempt to try and distract himself, Dennis reaches into his pocket and withdraws his phone, switching it on to discover the clock reads a bold, glaring '3:08am'. It pains him, not only in the literal sense that it's too bright and damages his fragile eyes, but to see this time forces the realisation down his throat that they've got to go - can't stay out much longer, not like this, can't be these people anymore - and this upsets him more than he thinks anything else in life has.

Just as he's gazing with a melancholy stare at his phone screen, he suddenly walks right into a pole he didn't see coming.

"Fuck!" He exclaims rather loudly as he hunches over, roughly shoving his phone into his pocket and clutching at his already throbbing face, "Shit, shit, fucking hell-"

"Dennis!" Mac stops his drunken karate moves and approaches him, resting a hand on Dennis' back and bending to inspect his face, "Jesus, you alright, man?"

"No, Mac, I'm not alright!" Dennis yells as he shoots up, standing straight again. Within a second, a sizeable amount of blood pours from his nose and stains his pale blue shirt bright crimson red, "Fuck's sake."

Instinctively, he tips his head back. What he's not expecting is for one of Mac's hands to appear on his neck, holding him steady, giving him support in his trying time. Then again, he can hardly focus on this when his face feels like it's broken, can barely notice Mac's strong cologne when he's in such agonising pain (which is a rarity these days; he can hardly focus on anything else).

It's at that precise, pin-prick moment that Dennis wants to die, because it's apparently not good enough for the universe that he's forced to be in constant close proximity with Mac, but now he's gone and hurt himself, and Mac as always is so eager to help. When he gets like this, he's impossible to deter, and that means Dennis isn't going to be able to be away from Mac for more than a minute at a time for the next week or so.

"Come on," Mac encourages gently, prompting but not forcing him to raise his head again, grip firm but familiar and unthreatening on Dennis' neck, "There you go, bud."

This nickname sends Dennis reeling, spiralling and plummeting back into reality. His brain-damaged mind had wandered off for a moment, letting him think inane things about him and his friend, but really that's all they were, and all they'd ever be: friends.

That being said, the look Mac gives him when he's finally not panicking about his Schrodinger's Cat nosebleed is something more than just that. It's so strange, so confusing, that it makes Dennis furrow his brow. He wants to know what all of this means, needs to know why Mac's looking at him so kindly, so sweetly, and just exactly _what_ that glint is in his dark, puppy-dog eyes.

It's then that, without any sort of warning, Mac's hand from the back of his neck slips. Dennis briefly thinks it's going to fall back to Mac's side and they'll continue walking, dancing and singing, like nothing ever happened and nothing ever will, but it doesn't. Instead, the hand comes to cradle Dennis' jaw, fingertips resting just on the plump part of his cheek, and Mac's not looking into his eyes anymore.

"Mac-" Dennis starts to say something, but the sentence - whatever it was, the cursed thing - evaporates from his brain. All that's left is the vain thought of 'I hope he kisses me, oh please God that doesn't exist let him kiss me', and strangely enough, like the world has turned on its head, this is exactly what Mac does.

He's somehow quick yet meagre all at once. He dips his head so fast Dennis can't even register it's happened before he's coming closer, closing the gap between them. His eyes don't shut for a while, like he's trying to confirm that this is in fact happening and not just some dream/nightmare he's about to wake up from. Dennis feels exactly the same, and waits to see Mac's lids shut before he follows suit.

Mac's exactly how he thought he would be. He tastes almost burnt - not in a garbage fire sort of way, but like a nicely cooked meal, like he's just eaten the perfect barbecue - and his lips feel divine. Dennis may be biased, as he often is yet, but he doesn't think he's ever felt anything better than this. Mac just _knows_ how much pressure to apply, when to bite, when to suck, when to part Dennis' lips with his tongue, prying but never pushing.

It's hardly like Dennis is complaining. Well, he wouldn't be, if it weren't for the growing pain in his face, the dreadful rising whine in his throat that's not due to pleasure, but rather quite the opposite. If he had it his way, he'd kiss Mac like this for all of eternity, alone where they stand on the sidewalk, but the potential broken nose he's sporting has other plans, and forces him to pull back.

"Ow," he says, trying to tone down his hurt so as to not alarm Mac, though the man is already looking at him like he's apologising, like he wants to turn back time and not do that in the first place, because he's obviously gone and upset Dennis right? Obviously Dennis didn't want that, right?

Not right. Dennis figures he'll be cursing himself forever for letting his own discomfort force him to pull back, because Mac simply spares him a sad smile and continues walking. There's a missing spring in his step, something Dennis feels should be there but that's been removed by his negative response to their kiss, and he knows now that this whole giant, shitty mess is positively, entirely, wholeheartedly his fault.

4.

Dennis _hates_ getting like this. He prefers being the cold, mysterious character in the group, the one with no emotions, the one with all the plans and none of the added emotion nor trauma. He doesn't like being this guy, the one that's sat up in the middle of the night, unable to keep himself stoic, covering his mouth with his hands and forcing himself to weep silently as he bundles himself up into a pitiful ball.

He wants to scream, wants to pour out his feelings into his pillow. This is the one massive downside to living with Mac, and that's that he knows any sort of distressed noise in the night wakes him up. If Mac heard him crying like this, tears falling down his face like he's a child or something, he'd never hear the end of it. Not in a bad way, necessarily: Mac would only be trying to help, to let him work through his emotions or whatever, but that's the worst case scenario in Dennis' mind.

He's been up for a good half hour now. For the first few minutes, he'd tried to stem the waterworks, telling himself he was being dramatic, that he was getting himself worked up for nothing. For the majority of the time, though, he'd been crying to himself, clutching his stomach like he'd been sliced open from east to west, and now he felt like he'd run out of liquid in his body.

Dennis finally resigns to his growing dehydration. He knows he's going to have to rise, to clean himself up and get some water, and only then will he be able to come back to bed and try to sleep. It's apparent that it's going to be one of _those_ nights, the ones where he's lucky to get two and a half hours rest and he'll have to apply extra concealer the next day to avoid looking like a zombie. He sighs and stands.

Before he leaves his room, he quickly wipes his face with his shirt, trying to get rid of any stray tears, then sucks in a sharp breath as he turns the doorknob and exits.

He manages to creep to the bathroom with little to no trouble, having lived here long enough to know where and where not to stand. This apartment has become his home, not only in the literal sense but also that this is where he's grown up. When he and Mac moved in here, they were kids, and so different to how they are today. Mac was straight, for one. He was, too.

Sexuality is a hard thing, he's come to accept as of late. As he pours himself a drink and avoids his own eye in the mirror, he contemplates exactly what his leanings are, given he has nothing better to do at 3am. He'd always classed himself as straight, but recently he's beginning to reclassify himself. He's still sure he likes women, at least the physical aspect of them, so he's not gay, but there's something repressed - some attraction buried beneath layers of other shit - that he's just starting to work his way towards dealing with.

In his life, he'd never thought he'd be here right now, stood in his tear-soaked PJ shirt and pants, thinking about banging dudes with his flamboyant homosexual flatmate and friend in the other room. He smiles a little, though when he catches his own eye accidentally he still looks ruined. 

It's then that he hears an obnoxious creak, and before he can think of a plan of action, he's whipping his head around and looking straight at Mac, the aforementioned flatmate and friend, and the pair of them look like they've been caught in headlights.

"Dennis," Mac speaks, quiet but not quite a whisper, "What're you doing up?"

Dennis shrugs, "Got thirsty. You?"

It's vague, but it's an answer, and it's at least partially true.

"Need a piss," Mac says, shuffling on his feet, and Dennis nods. Still, there's something unspoken in the air. Perhaps it's the fact that they're both not telling the full truth, or maybe it's that kiss that they somehow mutually decided would go down in their history as an underlying mistake never to be repeated. Dennis, if he's being frank with himself, has to admit he doesn't think that at all, not fundamentally; it wasn't a mistake in his books, even if it was a grave one in Mac's.

"I'll get going, then," Dennis says, abandoning his glass on the nearest surface and turning to leave, only he can't quite manage to get the full way when Mac's hand splays on his chest, preventing further movement.

"Dennis," Mac seems tentative, unsure exactly what he's doing but still wanting to offer Dennis something - anything - because it's obvious the man's been crying; he's not a total idiot. "Would you- can I..."

Mac can't form the words. He can't admit anything, doesn't want to risk saying anything and ruining it all, but Dennis can see recognition in his eyes as he once more scans his friend's face, and wordlessly Dennis lets himself be drawn into a hug. It's all warmth, strong arms and even stronger emotions pouring through their bodies.

Dennis swears one of them speaks, because there's no way he's getting all this from just a hug. He tries to refrain, but eventually he just gives in and wraps his arms around Mac's shoulders and pulls him in closer, because he fucking _needs this_ right now, okay? And, as he does so, he thinks he understands. He feels the acceptance Mac's radiating, the apology they're sharing, the mutual grief of something lost and celebration of something gained.

The new Mac might be all muscle, toned and tanned, but without their facades that they forgot to put on so early in the isolated morning, he feels soft. He feels exactly how Dennis knows he is, but how he's never allowed to be anywhere else. Well, Dennis decides, he can right here. Right now, right in this embrace, they can be the emblem of two souls bearing all to one another, daring to be honest in a bone-shattering world.

As much as he doesn't want to, he finally lets Mac go. The man seems to be waiting for his cue to leave, similarly unwilling to be the first to retreat, but when they do they just share a look that's filled with something wholly unfamiliar, and then it's gone. Dennis is continuing with his plan to up and leave, and he shuffles back to his bed, clambering in and tucking himself back up.

Strangely, though, he feels lighter. No longer is there the overwhelming sense of remorse, and he doesn't even want to cry himself into a coma anymore. It's a miracle, really, considering how he was feeling not five minutes ago, and as he drifts off he thinks Mac just might be more right than he knows about all that Jesus crap.

5\. 

December. Freezing cold. Can't move, can't speak. Throat closing up, tired all the time, never able to go out without immediately regretting that choice and wanting to go home. Dennis feels he's never wearing enough layers, and even considers doubling down on sweaters just to feel some memory of warmth.

He wishes he had done so now, because here he is, a fully grown man, sniffling and shaking in bed. Honest to God, he's in six t-shirts and two layer of pants, and he can't make himself go to sleep. Again, it seems to be developing into one of those dreadful nights, and the more he focuses on how tired he is, the less able to sleep he becomes. It's absolute torture; this must be what hell is like.

After tossing and turning, trying and failing and trying and failing again to sleep, he eventually stops putting it off and rises. He shivers as he walks, can barely open the door of his bedroom as he tries to escape this ice-cube that their landlord dares to call a suitable sleeping space, and feels like he might freeze to death before he makes it to Mac's room.

It's just down the hall, realistically, but between the amount of layers he's wearing and his absolute refusal to take his hands out of his PJ bottoms' pocket, it might just take him the rest of his life to make it there. Even when he's standing outside, he can't bring himself to open the door, so instead he sacrifices a knuckle and a comfortable standing position to lean and tap on Mac's door. It makes a pleasing, hollow-wood sound.

"Mac," he whispers, waiting a moment, then whispers louder just in case the man missed his call, "Mac, you in there?"

There's a void that their apartment becomes in the seconds it takes Mac to answer, quiet but present, "Yeah. Come in, Dennis."

He sounds a little sleepy, but when Dennis enters he finds him in a similar state: in a messy bed, with mussed hair, a vacant expression that tells of the hours he's spent trying in vain to rest. He gives Dennis a fond smile, though it comes off a little forced.

"Hey, is it alright if I stay in here?" Dennis asks as nonchalantly as his fluttering chest and chattering teeth will allow, "It's cold as shit in my room."

"Ditto," Mac sighs, but moves over to give Dennis space to lie down beside him, which the latter takes gratefully. They fall into an easy silence, which is strange considering the weird shit that's been surrounding them lately. If an onlooker were to guess, Dennis thinks they wouldn't even be able to tell that they'd made out recently, or that Mac had caught him crying and offered his mum condolences, and somehow made it all seem more manageable.

Even so, Dennis finds he can't sleep. He feel at ease beside Mac, but still there's the icy air nipping at his face, and the cold has taken home between them in the bed where they've left a sizeable gap. He's suddenly thrust into a dilemma, given an ultimatum, and it takes him perhaps less time than it should for him to decide what has to be done.

Without saying anything, he sits up slightly and drapes half of the blanket he brought with him over Mac's dark form. Then, feeling emboldened by seeing no protest there, he gently lays back down, placing his head onto Mac's chest, right on his heart.

It's pounding. Oh God, Mac sounds so alive, almost electrified, and he thinks he understands. He doesn't know what to do with this information except continue to lie there, listening to the proof that this is real, Mac's right here, like he always will be. In all honesty, Dennis would be content with just this, but he has to admit his heart skips a beat with excitement and anticipation when Mac speaks up.

"Dennis," he hears his name reverberate inside of the man's chest, trapped cruelly like a songbird, and then again, "Dennis."

Dennis thinks he's heard this before, this hushed tone, almost pleading. It sounds like Mac's praying to him, abandoning any and every other god to worship him - only him - and this thought drives him to look up at Mac, into the man's eyes, where they hover for the longest time.

There's no words, and there don't need to be any. It's just the natural progression of things when he slips his hands from under the blanket, and comes to rest them on either side of Mac's face. There's only a look, a knowing acceptance of what's about to happen. It's not awkward in the slightest, and Dennis swears the world stops spinning when he finally starts to lean in.

Mac doesn't leave him hanging - never leaves him hanging - as he comes to meet him right in the middle. They work together, not like their first kiss when Dennis couldn't quite understand how this was happening and exactly why that was. Now, they both understand. They both know what it's taken them to get to this point, and they both know it's been more than worth it, just for this.

The air is still chilly, but Dennis feels like he's on fire. Mac's face is burning red-hot beneath his fingers, and his firm chest is like a furnace. He takes a moment to just enjoy the feeling of their lips as they slide together, the dance their tongues do, and then he makes his move.

It's languid, not rushed whatsoever, but he knows exactly what he wants. This man beneath him deserves everything, every inch of him - physically and emotionally, all of it - and he's more than happy to give it to him. Carefully, he rises, equally desperate to continue and to keep kissing Mac, like he doesn't know this might be the last time he can do so. Maybe the world will end if they part; it sure as hell feels like it.

Still, he pushes onwards, reluctantly parting from Mac to throw a leg over his middle. Seeing where this is going, Mac shuffles to be a little more central in the bed, giving Dennis sufficient space to straddle him. Looking down, Mac's wearing this bewildered expression that Dennis would usually loathe, but now it just makes him want to kiss Mac more. Now that he knows he's allowed to, too, it's irresistible, so he caves and just goes for it.

He's never cared less for oxygen. He could choke and die right now, sat atop Mac like he's on top of the world, and he couldn't care one bit. Tantalised, positively poisoned by Mac's deliciously soft lips, Dennis feels like he's not in control of himself as his hands slip from Mac's face and run down his chest, relishing in the feeling of the toned muscles there. It's such a shame he's been hiding them beneath layers of winter clothes lately, Dennis thinks, but all in due time he'll get to see them again. Perhaps even sooner than he initially thought.

Dennis pulls back, hesitating briefly before resting his hands on the waistband of Mac's pants and nuzzling into the warm crevice of his neck. He smells all warm, like a Christmas eve fire, and Dennis could happily give himself over to him now, if he hasn't done so already.

Pressing hot kisses all along Mac's neck, both sides, and rubbing his hipbone, he fantasises of giving Mac everything. He has to admit he doesn't know exactly how this sort of thing goes, but he knows the basics from college and with Mac, he knows he could never feel unsafe. Any time Mac sees he's uncomfortable, he'll stop. Dennis just knows the man too well, him and his lovely soul.

" _M_ _ac_ ," he almost moans the man's name, like he can't control himself, like he's some sort of horny-deranged teenager again. He can't help himself repeating it as he forces himself to continue, "Mac, I want to- do you want me to..."

The question is unspoken, but there's recognition in Mac's eyes, that's soon replaced by consideration. He seems to toss the idea about in his head, unable to think totally straight in that moment with the weight of Dennis astride him, but soon he shakes his head. Before Dennis has time to be disappointed, though, he's suddenly got his hands locked onto Dennis' thighs, and he's shifting their positions.

"Not tonight," he murmurs, though there's no sort of disdain in his voice. He gently lays Dennis back, like he's praising every inch of his body, and now he's pressing his face impossibly close to Dennis'. Mac sounds far away when he speaks again, and Dennis isn't sure if it's because he's feeling so high off of their contact, or if Mac's just losing himself in the moment - possibly both. "Not tonight, you don't..."

After that, Dennis is lost, because Mac finally stops the teasing and kisses him, finally just _shuts up_ and does it, and suddenly none of it matters anymore. Yes, he'd still do anything if Mac asked it, but this right here feels like heaven on earth: his legs wrapped around Mac's waist, Mac hovering above him, kissing him into oblivion. 

This is the sort of afterlife he's looking forward to.

+1.

It's different now, and yet it's still exactly the same. By the time they make it through their front door, Mac's looking so ready to tear both of their clothes off and devour Dennis whole, and Dennis is right there with him.

It's been difficult, keeping the shift from the rest of the gang. Dennis figures either one of two things is true: either they're just really good at hiding the way they look at each other, like they're one soul split into two, desperate to reconnect and fuse back together, or nothing has changed and they've just been two blind idiots that have been looking at each other like that for years now.

Either way, Dennis doesn't think it really matters, because before their door has even closed Mac's all but picking him up and spinning him around, pinning him to the door and kissing him with the mutual desire of a war-torn couple of lovers that've been reunited under miraculous circumstances. 

He lets himself be manhandled, likes the way Mac takes his mouth like he owns it, because he might as well. He falls pliant beneath Mac's hands in an all-too familiar way, allowing Mac to shove his hands up his shirt, encouraging this animalistic action by wiggling his hips, pressing them forward to meet Mac's, wanting him to know how much he wants him. It's all very primitive, but Dennis doesn't have a single cell in him that gives a fuck.

It happens quickly. Before he can even open his eyes, Mac is gone from his lips, kissing down his body, pushing his shirt right up to his pecs and kissing the newly exposed skin there, too. He groans as Mac gets lower and lower, and almost comes right then and there when he looks down and meets Mac's questioning eye. He quirks an eyebrow at Dennis.

"Can I-"

"Yeah, yes, oh _God_ , Mac," Dennis pleads, writhing without even thinking about it now, and the sound of Mac undoing his zipper is like a chorus of angels singing, the delightful sound ringing in his ears. Then again, there's little time to think about it, because then his jeans are down alongside his underwear, and Mac's taking him into his hand.

Accompanied by countless embarrassing whines, moans, and little breathless breaths, panting like a dog, Mac wastes no time getting to work on him. He strokes Dennis like he's done it a thousand times before, or at least like he's thought about it a thousand times before.

Dennis wonders briefly if Mac's ever done that, imagined how he'd like to be jerked off. Maybe the man lay awake, touching himself, thinking if Dennis would like it harder, faster, dirtier. He wants to know how Mac pictured it: maybe he thought he'd be uncharacteristically elegant and angelic, liking his partner's touch to be ghostly, barely there. Or, alternatively, perhaps Mac guessed Dennis was a rough-and-tough kind of guy, taking whatever he got, the more intense the better.

Regardless, he's feeling so overstimulated right now, just from Mac's hand touching him like this, he doesn't even consider how it could be better. Could it get better than this? Could anything ever get better than this? Dennis just doesn't think that's possible, considering this is precisely everything he's ever wanted and then some.

He's been ready to explode since Mac first looked at him as he was wiping down tables just about two hours ago now. Just from the fixed gaze, settled on him - only for him - he's been wanting Mac, like this and in any other way. Now that he's got him, he knows he's not going to last long at all.

Pressed against the door, unable and unwilling to move, he forces himself to look down and watch Mac as he works. No matter how much he wants to let his head fall back and squeeze his eyes shut, he just can't do that. Not this time, anyway; there'll never be a time like this again. He wants to see as much as he can, witness Mac working on him - working for him - like he's got nothing he'd rather do anyway.

It's when Mac's pretty pink tongue slips out that he loses all control. The feeling of it dragging up his length, from base to tip, overwhelms him, and he can't stop himself. Right then and there, with little more than a look and feel, he comes.

A little goes into Mac's open mouth, though the majority lands on his chin and cheek. Dennis expects Mac to be at least a little taken-aback, maybe even get irritated at him for not giving him any warning, but he doesn't. He just stands, as close if not closer than he was before, and kisses Dennis square on the mouth.

It's salty, because of course it is. He's a little grossed out at tasting himself on Mac's tongue and lips, but he gets over it quickly, instead taking to kissing Mac with all he has, all he is, and making it as good as he can for the man. 

This is how it's always supposed to have been, Dennis thinks privately. The two of them against the world, gay and unstoppable together. So maybe he'll never really understand what it all means, how they got here and why exactly it took them so goddamn long, but he figures that as long as they're here now, that's all that really matters.

**Author's Note:**

> apologies if there are some mistakes in this, I did edit it but I have a head cold and feel like crap so... my bad.
> 
> hope it read well! let me know what you think :)


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